Monday, October 29, 2007
So yesterday I posted my blog in the early morning, as I am doing now. (This actually probably won’t get posted til this evening but I’m writing now.) I guess I shall fill you in on the remainder of my day. Yesterday. The day of yesterday.
Cleaning. Ugh. Disgusting. The mere word causes me to cringe. Usually. But, every now and then I get into those “modes”. My cleaning modes. Like the day before yesterday. Mom told me to go clean the bathroom floor and wipe down the toilet and counters. *gag* Our bathroom is tiny and we keep all of our stuff in the 3 drawers beneath the tiny sink/counter, a tall thingamajig behind the door with 2 shelves and 3 drawers and a cupboard on the bottom. Oh, and the closet. Thank goodness for the closet! You merely open the door to the bathroom closet and better be prepared to be bombarded by hair care products and body lotions.
Now, I am not high maintenance. My mother neither. But you wouldn’t think this by our bathroom closet. I don’t care what kind of shampoo I use as long as it cleans. I don’t care what I clean my body with—a sweet-smelling shower scrub with cleansing micro beads or a bar of soap.
I just. Don’t. Care.
But my grandmother seems to be bothered by my lack of concern in the area of my appearance. So she showers us with bottles of hair conditioner, color enhancer, scalp scrubs, de-dandruff-izers, not to mention lotions, body scrubs, shower gels, and facial moisturizers.
I really don’t get it.
I mean, I’m not completely oblivious to personal hygiene. And yes, sometimes I am slightly concerned about things like my hair or my dry skin. I’m a teenage girl, I’m not fond of frizzy, bushy hair. But ya know what? I don’t go out and buy every stinkin dry skin lotion or hair sleekening-shampoo and goop up my body to fix it! God gave me my body. It is MY body. Nobody can have it. Not Aveeno or Garnier Fructisse or Maybelline or any other brand of hair crap, skin goop, or face paints. Sure there are aspects of my appearance I’m not fully satisfied with, but so what? Nobody looks perfect. I mean you may think those models in the newest teen trend magazine does, or your favorite singer. But they don’t look like that, not really. Chances are they are wearing tons of makeup, have had 3 plastic surgeries, and are very very hungry right now!
I’m not going to stress myself over my looks. It’s not worth it. In all honesty (no joke) I’m more concerned with my flaws on the inside. Bad attitude, lazy, judgemental. Those things need to go away before anything else.
Okay sorry kind of got off topic there. I tend to rant whenever certain subjects come up. So. Anyway. I decided we had too much goop hanging around in the closet so I completely cleaned it out. That’s right, all of it! It took me about an hour but voila! Now it is clean and you can actually find the Tylenol when you need it and get to the hair conditioner when you need it. (I’m not so against hair care products that I won’t condition my hair.) I got rid of almost an entire trash bag of crap we will never use. I am now very proud of my bathroom closet. I shall show it to everybody who enters the house. “Hi, I’m Caitlin, nice to meet you. Come look at my bathroom closet!!”
And then after I cleaned that closet, I got into cleaning mode. Scary. I proceeded to clean out my own little drawer and shelf in the bathroom, dusted my piano and swept the kitchen & dining room, did all my laundry… Ugh. Laundry. I have a very bad habit when it comes to laundry. I have LOTS of clothes. And I only have a few pieces I chose myself! I have about 8 pairs of pants, all Wrangler and one Cruel Girl (because sometimes I need ‘good’ pants but they all keep getting faded, so we keep buying another pair for certain occasions). I have about 20 t-shirts, almost all from my grandparents from when they traveled all over the world. Hong Kong, Panama Canal, Rainforest, Hawaii, to name a few. (They’ve also been to places we don’t have t-shirts from but other souvenirs, like Vienna Austria, Germany, Cabo San Lucas…)
I can just see Sara shivering with envy. =P
Anyway. So there was like 8 loads of laundry to do. Which I did all in one day, and folded it all too. I also cleaned out my closet and nightstand, and today I dusted and vacuumed my room.
And now the cleaning mode has passed and I have settled back into my lazy routine of leaving dirty socks all around the house, plopping plates, bowls and cups in odd places with no intention of later retrieving them, and not washing clothes for 2 months until I am finally completely deprived of all clothing. Unless I am interested in wearing a down parka with a fur collar, pink chiffon and silk skirt with rose petals in the hem, red socks with snowmen on them, and finally boots to complete my stylish outfit.
I should be a clothes designer. Oh yes. I could make the trends. Bwaha. It would be a rather interested job I think. A lot of people follow the latest style of the most popular clothes brand. Oh the crazy garments I could create, and laugh my tail off watching as hundreds of high schoolers flocked to the rack of hawk-feather tank tops and skin-tight baby-puke-green silk leggings. Kids will wear anything these days.
So yeah. I’ve been gradually adding to this all day on Microsoft Word. Thinking of things to write. Trying to finish it so I can post it. Oh! Yesterday I finally called Oscar!
It’s kind of a long story. But basically… I’ve known Oscar since we were about 4, only see each other twice a year though, and earlier this year (like spring) something happened, I think, I don't know what... I think Nick lost his job or something. And decided they move from the Panhandle of Texas to the Sierra Nevadas of California where Nick, father and husband, would be packing mules all summer.
That’s the brief version. So anyway, now they are in Arizona where Nick is still packing mules, they live in an apartment and I think Amy (mother and wife) works at a bar or something. So. I haven’t talked to nor seen Oscar in… Oh, in two weeks it’ll be a full year. We are pretty good friends, I love the guy, he’s crazy fun. If he is thinking or feeling something, he won’t hold it back, and he isn’t afraid to be himself, which is really cool. So I called them up, Lily (daughter, youngest child of 2) answered the phone and we talked all of 3 minutes. She seemed like she might have been busy, that or she was thinking, “Oh NO it’s that crazy person who blabbers on continually about random and pointless things.”
What a sweet compliment. =)
So, I asked how Oscar was doing and she asked if I would like to talk to him. Well, sure. So I ended up talking on the phone with him for an hour and a half!
But it was fun. It’s kind of, well okay completely, weird in a way because we didn’t cover anything at all important, we just babbled about all sorts of random things. Don’t ask. Really. You don’t want to do know. Anyway… We only got off because his mom was trying to call, or something along those lines, and he promised he would call later this week. Yay!
Okay, well I gotta git. Youth Group is tonight and the granola bars are deflated, the Cajun cake isn’t frosted yet, Huckleberry is… Nowhere to be seen. Or heard. Huh? Huck? Huckleberry?! *complete silence* When it comes to baby kitties… Silence scares me.
Yipes! Gotta go!
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Last night, miraculous events took place. Broken hearts were mended. Shattered souls were healed. She loves me again!
Er. That was. Until this morning. Got up, she followed me into the kitchen. I fixed Huck’s bottle and went into the office and began to bottle feed him. Still fine. I finally let him down to play around. She glared, growled, swatted, hissed. Finally I, er, well I threw her our of the office. Oh, yeah, and I might of… Uh, shut the door in her face. And maybe, um, called her a cranky old buzzard? She started screaming, I mean outright howling, right outside the door until finally I put her out of the house to run around and do kitty things and shed tears over her bruised and battered heart.
*sigh* Back to square one.
So Huck is running around like a mad kitty and I am… sitting here… Doing nothing. Being bored. I'm really good at that.
Ugh I’m so cold I’m almost chivaling…
Whoops! I mean shivering. It’s a Travis-ism. What’s that? You wanna hear the story behind it? Well, okay…
We were in the pickup driving somewhere to gather cattle. It was cold and still dark. Anyway Mom said something about being “chivalrous” and I decided to pick on Travis and ask him what it meant. (He’s not fond of big words, but he’s also not dumb, he just likes to play the part, I can usually get a kick out of his definitions though.) The following was his reply.
“Well… when you… um… When it’s really cold outside… And you start to chival (SHI-VEL)… Cause your cold… And when you start chivaling really bad… Then you’re chivalrous.”
So yeah. I need to go turn the heat on. Cause I’m still chivaling.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
So the 3 Amigos left. Yes, it was a sad day. The sky became dark and gloomy, the dogs whimpered and hung their tails between their legs and the horses drooped their heads with sorrow. Really! The branches on the trees sagged with pity. So Justin gave me a hug and told me to be good and I told him “yeah right”. I got a hug from Travis (you don’t realize how tall the guy really is until you get up close to him). I told him thanks for letting me pick on him and putting up with my silly antics, and he said thanks for letting me harass him. GR acted all grudging (friendly rivalry, pretend enemies, we’re something along those lines) and he gave me a stiff one-armed hug. *roll eyes* Oh, you’ll miss me! Just admit it!
Anyway. They left. An awkward silence followed. It really was weird. But I eagerly look forward to their next visit and to witnessing more of their ridiculous skits. Until then, I guess I’ll have to return to entertaining myself.
OH! I just realized why I haven’t been blogging! It’s my way of entertaining myself, you see. It’s my daily amusement. While the 3 Amigos were here, they provided more than my normal ration of laughter. But now that they have left, I shall return to my normal regime. I think that’s the word. I must have my daily dose of amusement. Now I must return to the original source for such a think- blogging! Anyway, back to my own entertainment…
I guess instead of racking my brain for some Travis-isms right now I’ll tell you about the newest addition to the family. I guess that can be the point of tonight’s post. Around… Oh Sunday I guess it was. That morning I heard lots of kitty cries from around the oil shed/oil pit/gas tank area. Hmmm. I inspected the shed, found nothing… But it was still dark. I forgot about the mysterious kitten-like squeals, the day went on as normal, for Fall Works that is. Late that morning, I spotted GR in the oil pit cradling a screaming kitten in his arms. (He tries to be gruff but he is really just a big teddy bear.) I took them inside, gave them both something to eat. (The two kittens that is, not GR and the one kitten.) One was larger, looked healthier, the other was scrawny and skinny, wouldn’t eat, and was always screaming. Fed them twice a day on Sunday and Monday. Tuesday morning… I went to the oil pit and found one of the babies was dead. =( [They were both male, and both black and white mottled] The one that had died was the scrawny one, something was wrong internally I think, it was sick I bet. I brought the remaining one in (who was lonely, cold, and whimpering.) It had been very cold that night, about freezing, and though the oil pit was sheltered from the relentless wind, and I had provided them with an old ratty towel and rag, something must have been wrong with the poor screaming kitten.
I proceeded to feed the remaining baby (about 4 weeks old) some of Zoey’s canned kitten food and some milk. That night, I stressed over sleeping arrangements. Mom is dead-set against another indoor kitty. So she said she would give me permission to put him on the porch, but he could absolutely NOT be in the house. Ha. Yeah right Mom. A defenseless baby kitty vs. freezing cold, loneliness, and stress.
I took a big (about 16 in by 16 in) cardboard box, taped the flaps up to make the sides really tall, padded it with a polar fleece blanket, added a saucer with some food and a fuzzy stuffed animal, and voila!
Now when I got Zoey… Ugh. I shudder to think of those 2 weeks of sleepless nights. At first, we kept her in a laundry crate with a stuffed animal, blankets and some food, in the kitchen. She would wake EVERYBODY up (and my room and the kitchen are on complete opposite sides of the house) with her relentless screeching. She would not give up until somebody decided to come feed and play with her. This usually happened at about 11:30 at night, and 4:00 in the morning. Then I put her kitty crate in my room. Ugh. More sleepless nights. I decided to let her sleep WITH me. UGH. Finally, I just quit giving in to her and she learned to play by herself and leave ME alone. And then I started letting her browse the house and all was well with the world.
I was expecting the same with kitty-kitty here. But I was in for a pleasant surprise! He slept through the night. We put him in the front room, and he was fine until in the morning! I’m sure he woke up maybe cried a few times, but he has a very quiet meow and he is excellent at playing by himself. Yay!
I have been bottle feeding the little monster now… Greedy sucker! I need to get a pic of him though, he really is the most adorable thing you ever did see. Just SO cute. And when he nurses, he gets upside down exposing his oh-so skinny, empty belly, I mean you can see his ribs! *thick sarcasm* He also puts his front paws on the bottle, sticks his back feet straight in the air, and his little ears twitch and wiggle as he drinks.
Anyway. Zoey is as jealous as heck. She is pretty ticked at me… When I pick her up, she growls and hisses. When I pet her, she grunts and moves away. She glares at me, and hisses at the baby kitty, and won’t sleep with me for the time being.
Cats. They’re all such divas.
Oh, and Baby Kitty has a name! It’s Huckleberry. For numerous reasons, each listed below in no particular order.
**There is a song Toby Keith (not my favorite artist, but LOVE this song) sings that goes “…baby I’ll be your huckleberry, you don’t have to double dare me…”
**Am a huge fan of Huckleberry Finn, haha
**He hunts out his food like a hound, and for some reason I got to thinking of Huckleberry Hound (so I watch cartoons, so what?)
Totally sensible reasons, no?
He knows his name too. =P If he's outside, you call his name and he comes running. He's a little purr machine too! He just loves to cuddle and lick your hands and give you love bites, silly boy. He really touches my heart, this little one... He's definitely my Huckleberry Baby.
Anyways. I better git. I’ve yapped long enough now. I’ll try and get pics of Huck tomorrow. And post again! I’m sure I’ll be posting regularly from now on.
Nightie-night! Sleep tight! Don’t let the bed bugs bite! (Or angry cats holding a grudge against you and your new ‘baby’…)
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
So since I last posted nothing incredibly interested has happened, to be honest with you. I did lots of school. Mom threatened to not let me go with the fellows and help if I didn't get caught up on school.
It's kind of funny, when you think about it really. Most parents tell their kids...
"If you don't get at-least a B on your book report, I'm going to take away your..."
A) cell phone
B) computer privelages
C) car keys
Remember my post on abnormality. I am not normal, nor do I ever intend to be. Anyway, compare the situation above, to the one below, that I can relate to.
"If you don't get caught up on your algebra and history, you can't..."
A) ride your horse
B) work on the ranch
C) go help the guys
OMIGOSH, I can't work??!! Nooooo! It's the end of the world! (Pretty much my reaction right there. Oh, and throw in a scream, squeal, growl, stomping of feet and slamming of door.) I think it's kind of funny how those situations differ.
Anyway. So I got all caught up on my school just in time. Today is Wednesday, yesterday (Tuesday) we started working again. This time the crew involves us (Clint, Grandpa, Daddy, Tyler and Me) of course, Da 3 Amigos, and Dave the horse trader. Only two days into the second round of works and I'm having the time of my life! If my brain was at all functioning I could probably recall some silly, ridiculous, but out-right hilarious skits of the 3 Amigos. Oh my. They are just too much fun. Travis has taken up a new hobby. Re-naming all of our horses. It's stupid really, but the way he blurts out their new titles, it's just funny... Wyatt is Twinkles. Jesse is Snowflake, that or Sugar, we haven't decided yet. Justin's dun horse is Buttercup. Topper is Sparkles. So in return, I decided to name his paint horse Sprinkles.
Hey, it's a good way to pass the time when you're waiting for somebody to bring the rigs back.
Not a sensibly way to pass the time. But it is amusing.
Poor Wyatt is crippled. =( Friday we discovered he was a bit lame, put him on Bute. I rode him Saturday, and he was fine because Bute is a pain-killer for horses, and he couldn't even feel it. Didn't ride him Sunday or Monday, Tuesday (yesterday) got on him out in the pasture and discovered he was very very lame because I hadn't given him Bute for the past few days, just a gram that morning. There is no worse feeling than riding a crippled horse, everybody on the crew sympathized with me and agreed- Travis, Justin, GR, Grandpa, Daddy, they've all experienced it. Ever step, you feel that limp and it's like swallowing a great big spoonful of guilt every time you feel it. I wanted to take him back, but Daddy thought he would warm up. It's a 6 mile pasture... He couldn't trot, it hurt him so bad so I just walked. After about 4 miles, Grandpa had taken my spot and was about 1/4 of a mile ahead of me, if not more. But right about then either the Bute kicked in or his injury warmed up, or maybe both, because he could trot and even lope without limping hardly at all. Thank goodness! It no longer felt like a great big lump of lead was sitting on my chest. He's still on Bute, hope he's gonna be alright...
So as of this morning, Wyatt Earp is temporarily retired. So I got to ride another dangerous outlaw... Jesse James. Alot of people told us that Jesse would buck, was no-account, just a worthless pasture ornament. The truth in the matter, he was never given a chance, just like alot of the horses that were on this place when we came weren't. It was about a year or more before Daddy finally got him lined out, and now he is a pretty dandy little horse. Gentle, good traveler, resposive and soft, just a durned nice horse. Daddy says he is "pretty good but not superb" but I like the fellow. Dave tried to scare me by saying he's seen Jesse buck, but I know the truth- only when he was jabbed with spurs and somebody tried to make him buck.
Humans are idiots.
So I got along with him great! The morning was swell, everything was fine, the wind didn't start up till about an hour before we quit and went in for lunch. Got several good laughs, went pretty well...
Now I'm gonna go in search of those chewy caramels. It is dangerous to have those things in the house when I'm around.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Not alot been going on around here lately. Been doing a LOT of school. *gag* Oh well.
Apparantly education is an essential part of a healthy and balanced lifestyle. Atleast, that's what one of them people on TV said. You know, them funny people that study other funny people and then tell those people funny ways to live. As far as I'm concerned, I'm living my life just the way I'm supposed to. I am being myself and enjoying the heck out of it- and I'm sure God gets a kick out of it too. So there.
I've started riding alot more- I guess I didn't realize how much I missed it! I stopped about 3 years ago because it wasn't fun anymore- it was frustrating and just WORK, no fun. Long story.
Anyway, I have recently found joy in horses again. I wanted to take Wyatt out for my first REAL ride (aside from working) in a very long time. So I asked Mom. She said no. Her first excuse was that I needed to do school. Then she admitted that I shouldn't be riding when Daddy wasn't here.
Really. It's not like if I get bucked off, Daddy can make it any better. If I'm gonna be stupid and get bucked off, it's just gonna happen. And I'll learn from it. That's how I need to learn. I need to fall off, get bucked off, and make mistakes. My parents may worry about it, but in the long run, it was good for me.
Second of all. Wyatt won't buck. That's a funny picture, Wyatt bucking. I may try and see if he can buck one of these days. Okay, so maybe that won't be such a good idea.
And Mom also brought up the last time I went out in the pasture and rode by myself. I was riding Mitch- he was fresh, I hadn't ridden in a while, I wasn't paying attention. I made a nice little butt-print right out there in the pasture.
But I learned from it. Some people may view getting bucked off as dangerous. I see it as experience, practice, a lesson. Now, if a horse is fresh, I really pay attention till he is warmed up.
I don't fall asleep (so to speak) when riding just in case an evil flesh-eating bunny lunges out from behind a bush.
If I'm roping, I really try not to rope my horse's tail.
So I caught my horse, tossed him a flake of hay, and waited patiently (as always) for Daddy to return home. Upon his arrival, I explained the situation.
I want to ride my horse, but Mom won't let me because you aren't here to 'supervise'. She thinks I'll get bucked off or something. So I kept him up so I could ride him once you got home. Do I have your permission, dear father?
Of course, the above little speech had no trace of sarcasm, what-so-ever.
Daddy gave Mom a funny look.
"Well, last time she was out there, she got bucked off! If Wyatt was 'a Poncho', I would let her."
Daddy gives her another funny look.
"He pretty much is a Poncho, Mom!"
Mom looks at Daddy.
Another funny look.
"Okay", she finally says, a bit reluctantly.
Poncho is the horse I learned to ride on. When I was five, I would put a halter on him (I couldn't put a bridle on him yet), would climb up on the fence or roping dummy, clamber onto him and spend hours upon hours perusing the pasture. He was extremely, extremely gentle. Wyatt may spook every now and then, but I seriously doubt he'll ever buck. Then again, I'll not underestimate him. I made that mistake with Mitch. He was gentle. He was fresh. He bucked me off.
See, Mom? I learned that lesson!
So I rode him Thursday, Friday, and today. Today was the first time I've been bareback in about 5 years. It was fantastic! Wyatt has never been ridden bareback but he was a doll. I jsut walked him around the round pen, then trotted.
Wyatt is not exactly... graceful.
He has a bumpy trot.
Combine "rough trot" with "no stirrups".
I was kind of bouncing along back there, kind of sort of *not* enjoying his bony spine piercing my bottom. But I was having too much fun to really notice. I loved it! He was so good about it too, acted as if I was gliding on his back, as if nothing at all were amiss. I do love that horse.
I took my first ever pictures of Wyatt today too! Yay! They aren't all that good. But it wasn't my fault! It never is, you know. It was dusk, and Wyatt was being uncooperative. There is a hay rack right in the middle of the pen he kept circling. Silly boy. Still! They are my first pics of Wyatt. He looks terrible in them. Cause the lighting was bad and he wouldn't stay still. But oh well. The full-body pic isn't that bad- that one is actually kind of good. The head one isn't, lol, but ah well.... He is 7 years old, registered QH, partially running-bred. He's a little on the chubby side, haha. Aside from that, his only other real fault is his short hip. But what is the fun in a perfect horse?
That's my boy! Registered name Pier Square Dude (he was named in relations to his lineage), 'official' name Wyatt Earp, commonly known as Wyatt, affectionately known (by me, of course) as Outlaw or Ferocious Beast. Can't you see the evil in him? Rawr.
While I'm at it. Below are a couple pics of my one year old female Syrian hamster, Sassafras.
She is quite evil, by the way. Syrian hamsters are suppposed to be cuddly- HAH! She hates being held. No matter how long and patiently I worked with her, she made it clear I am unwelcome in her presence. Ah, well...
And here is my 6 month old half Siamese, half barn cat kitten, Zoey. These are from when she was younger. 3-4 months.
Hopefully better pics of Wyatt tomorrow. Maybe some of me on him bareback! So this has been a picture-heavy post. Mostly about riding. I guess.
Enjoy the pics.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
I am not only blessed. I am purely amazed by my blessings and how much I have been blessed. Alot of people always say, "I am so blessed, I have 3 great kids, a fantastic husband, I love our community, etc etc etc". But I am not blessed in the same way. I am blessed by this lifestyle that is so different from any other.
How many people do you know... Who are incredibly eager to get up at 4:20 in the morning. To walk outside and feel the chill of the fall air kiss your cheeks, and hear almost nothing. Almost. All you can hear are the horses nickering and snorting so softly, it's almost like they are whispering among themselves. To hear only the crunch of boots on gravel and the merry jingle of spurs that is so quiet and yet, so loud in the early morning. This is the time of day that sends chills up and down my spine, and I don't believe I can explain why. The sound of the horses crunching grain or hay stems between strong molars, the hands' voices low accompanied by a few chuckles and maybe a cuss word or two to a horse who's not so eager to be caught this morning.
How many people do you know... Who have just gathered a 9 section (640 acres to a section) pasture, spent an hour sorting on the herd, moved part of the herd two pastures over, worked 74 cows through the shoot, and are dead-beat tired but still having the time of their life?
When I crawl in bed at night, I get to review the day in my head. Everything from the feel of cold leather reins in my hands, to the bronc ride you witnessed (and the fellow who rode him is just plain cool because he could ride that bronc), to the numerous antics of the dayhands during teh day that made you double over in laughter. And when you crawl into bed, you are lulled to sleep by the song of the cows and calves calling to each-other. This "noise" may annoy many people and prevent them from sleeping. But to me, it is just another melody, just another song of this life. The song of laughter. The song of the early-birds. The song of the rain pattering against your saddle, your hat, your jacket. The song of the wind. The song of the cattle.
The song of the cowboy. (That sounded really cheesey but whatever.) There are alot of people who work hard, I know that. Who work really hard and hardly ever see their family. But really, I think my Daddy works harder than almost anybody. 9-5 are 'normal' hours. That brings us back to my previous post. We are not normal- in fact, let's completely rearrange those numbers backwards. 5-9 are Daddy's hours. It amazes me, his work ethic. This ranching, being a cowboy, it isn't something you do for the money. You can't do it for the money, because the money isn't enough to drive you to work unless the work is what you love. And I know, as I mentioned yesteday, that if Daddy's paycheck was less than what it is, he wouldn't work a bit less. He works hard because he knows it's right.
There aren't alot of people in this world who do what is right anymore. I don't think my Daddy has ever, ever told a lie. I mean, maybe he blamed leaving the steer pen gate open on his sibling when he was younger, but I mean.... Like a grown-up lie. He always tells the truth, he always does what is right, he is respected by almost all who know him, and he is my Daddy. That is one of my largest blessings.
I am just fascinated by all of my life. There is nothing like it. And I feel like this very love of my life comes into full bloom in Fall. The feel of Fall. There is nothing to explain it, to be honest. There is just a feel to it, especially on the ranch. You can smell it. Spring kind of blends into Summer. Winter kind of blends into Spring. But Fall- Summer just stops. Because you wake up one morning, walk outside... And you smell it. You really do smell it. It has a smell. There is that common aroma to Fall. But there is also my Fall smell. And that is the beautiful aroma of branding smoke.
You can pretty much divide the year into seasons by happenings on the ranch. Winter turns to Spring when the cattle are moved off of Shinry (a plant very thick on parts of this ranch, that is poisonous when it first buds out). Spring turns to Summer whenever... Well I guess mostly it just gets hot and the guys start breaking colts and doing stuff in the shop, trying not to spend too much time in the scalding heat. Summer turns to Fall whenever it's time for Fall Works and whenever the branding smoke lingers on the air. And Fall turns to Winter whenever the guys load the feeders onto the trucks and drive around delivering cow cake to all the cattle.
But of all seasons, Fall is my favorite. Branding smoke.... ahhh. It should be bottled and sold as perfume, I tell you. I love the smell of it. I love whenever the crew comes together and everybody's stomach hurts from laughing so much at the rest of the crew. When you gain 10 pounds from my Momma's good cooking. There is just a feel to Fall that makes my heart soar and I just know what love is, right then. I am in love with my life.
Lots of people ride. Live in the country. Get up early. But it's not the same as my life, as living on a ranch. There are also no people like cowboys. Probably the absolute best people I know outside of my family (and "my family" includes your family Sara) are cowboys, they own a ranch. Don and his two sons, Ky and Kohl. Just fantastic people. They are respectable people and the kind of people you should model yourself after.
Being out there at 5:30 in the morning, shivering within my layers of clothing, and I hear only the pat, pat, pat, pat of my horse's hooves tapping the ground. I look around me- see no cattle, only the guys dropped off to the left and right of me. So I begin to watch the sun ride above the horizon. The horizon that has been painted a brilliant neon pink, bright peach-orange, the clouds themselves also tinted these magnificent colors that are not to be found in a Crayon box, only in the sky.
Some people don't understand why I love this life. And I can't really even scratch the surface of why, because words cannot express feelings. I think that's what love really is... An emotion. Emotions cannot be expressed with words. And when two people feel the same emotion, the exact same one, that is love. That is why I love my best friend, Sara. We feel the same love for this life. It's why I so dearly love my Momma and Daddy. It is why I love the guys who help us on the ranch. Because we all feel that same love.
Alot of people are like, "Ugh! How can you live out there?! I would die of boredom!" There is nothing boring about my life, nothing at all, and people just don't understand how much I am blessed and how passionate I am about who I am and where I live. But that's okay, because there is no way I could ever understand why somebody would want to live in the city. Almost everybody who comes out here, as soon as they step out of their vehicle, they say, "Wow. It's so... quiet out here!" And when I go to town I just want to scream "SHUTUP!" There's people yelling, talking, phones ringing, horns honking, machines humming, I HATE it. Out here it is not exactly quiet, though. The sounds are just subtle. It's like adding spices to a casserole or something. You put too much and it ruins everything! Just enough spice, and it enhances it. The sounds out here enhance it. At night, there are the crickets, the coyotes singing (one of my favorite sounds EVER), the bulls groaning. During the day, there are cattle calling, the rustle of antelope darting across the pasture, birds chirping. And the noises I described on a Fall Works' morning. Oh, there are sounds. And they are perfect.
And I not only love my life. I am proud of it. So proud sometimes I think I'll just explode. I am proud of my Daddy and I am proud of what he does. And I am proud of my life.
I am not only blessed. I am truly amazed by my blessings. God has given me so much and made me feel like I am truly special to Him. He has given me so much that I don't deserve, never have and never will. I am so disobedient to Him and yet he loves me continually. He made me feel like I am important, because he has taken me aside and given me something not alot of people have. My life.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
"Don't be ridiculous."
I don't know about you but I have heard the above phrases more times that you can shake a stick at. And today, I thought maybe I would contradict these phrases. Argue with them. And/or the people who so often use them.
Take the first one for example. "It's just not normal!" Normal? Haha- that's funny! Tell me, please, what is normal anymore, when nobody is the same? I mean, everywhere you go there are people trying to imitate others, but at the same time there are also the people trying so hard to be so different and be the opposite of everyone else. And then more people start following the "unique" person. Everywhere you go, there are little "circles" of people. There's the trendy, fashionable, popular person- and a whole group of people copying him/her. Then there's the gothic emo, dark, moody person- well that sounds like fun! Let's follow that guy! Is it really that normal to plaster your face in so much makeup that for all anybody knows you're a rodeo clown for the PBR? Is it really normal to dress in clothes so baggy you could hide a small army inside inside them?
"You're weird." Well, let's think logically here, which is something I rarely do, so I may be a little rusty. But... if normal means some of the things I listed in the above paragraph.... Then you are dang right I'm weird! I wear clothes that fit, my face is real, no plastic, and not covered in gunky make-up. I don't try to copy people and be who I'm not, and I don't have to wear rings in my nose or turn my vehicle into a ginormous boom-box that does nothing but be annoying to be cool.
This is a good one. "Don't be ridiculous." Ridiculous? Ridiculous?! Me? Okay, sometimes I can be ridiculous. Am ridiculous. Some, okay most, of the time. But I'm not as ridiculous as I could be. I don't say to the ranch hand, "Yo, dog, whazzzuuuuuup?" I mean, honestly. Who wants to be called a dog? I mean, if you specify and call them a female dog, that's supposedly insulting. Atleast I don't wear flip-flops in the dead of winter, I don't wear sunglasses that cover up half my face, I don't spend 3,000 minutes a month on the phone, I don't hardly not eat at all and what llittle I do eat throw up, I don't pass out if I missed a new episode of Grey's Anatomy, and I'm sure as hell not normal!
What is with this crap anyway, I mean, why can't you just be yourself anyway? God made you the way you are, and that is who you are supposed to be. If He wanted everybody to be the same, He would have made us that way. But how boring would that be? Well, I'll give today's world one thing... it isn't boring. But it is stupid. Honestly- why do people get ridiculed for being themselves? Why do we have to model ourselves after everybody else? Physically- we have to be skinny, with perfect hair a perfect face and perfect clothes. First of all- people weren't made to be skinny. We are supposed to look healthy which means we aren't naturally supposed to be teeny tiny. Throwing up is a feature God designed to rid our body of toxic substances, not normal food with nutrients that our body needs. Our face is... our face! It's what it is, stuffing it with plastic is just ridiculous. You're hair is going to be frizzy, get over it! Then of course through our behavior and mentality: is acting stupid a trend now? Why is being mean to others so cool?
Is eating abnormal?
Is wearing clothes I like that actually fit abnormal?
Is just being me, and liking it abormal?
Then I am proud to be abnormal.
I hate going to town. I wear Wrangler jeans, a t-shirt, a ball cap and boots every stinkin day. I don't give a darn what people think of me- you may think I'm weird, but at the same time, I'm thinking you're weird. Because in my book, being normal means being the person you were meant to be.
I don't think kids walking around town in pants 10 sizes too big or riding in tricked out cars with wolfers are cool. I think guys are cool who wear a cowboy hat, are honest and hard-working. Our day hands aren't cool because they are like everybody else- I think they're cool because they are themselves and because they can ride a bronc. (Yes, now THAT is cool.)
I think my Dad is cool because he is honest to a fault, he works hard for a living, and I know that if his check was any smaller, he wouldn't work a bit less.
Being cool is being honest, being true to yourself and to everybody around you. Being cool is being different, not TRYING to be different, but by just being yourself.
I am me. I am proud of me. My friends like me for ME not for being somebody else. God made ME and He is proud of me. I will NOT try to be somebody else in any way, form, or fashion. I am going to be myself and that is COOL.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
I am not one of those people.
I rather like my little rat's nest. I curl under my sheet, thin blanket, and flannel quilt, my head on my favorite soft pillow case. On the side of my bed nearest the window sill, is a leopard-print flannel 1 sq. yard blanket. For the cat. Yes- she has her own blanket, and it is where she sleeps everynight. Along with whatever little friends she likes to carry with her to bed each night. There is also a very tattered silk wild rag with holes scattered among this- a treasured memory really. When I was about 7 years old, Daddy went on a hunting trip in Alaska. I missed him so much, Momma gave me this silk wild-rag that smelled like him to help ease the pain. It worked! Also there is a small mint-green quilt with bunnies on it- Granny made that, as well as the patchwork quilt on top. She sews them all my hand- she has an amazing gift for it, and I treasure her quilts. Also nestled beside me is a flannel tie-blanket with horses on it (surprise surprise). At my feet, a small horsey pillow. I used to sleep with 13 stuffed animals, then slimmed that number down to 9, but they have since been sentenced to life on top of a stack of quilts at the top of my closet- sorry, sweeties. But I just got too big! I remember all their named though: Chester, Flower, Cocoa, Brownie, Brightie, Poncho, Apple, Murphy, and Fluffy. 1 moose, 1 white Alaskan seal, 1 puppy, 5 horses and a unicorn. =D
Why I just described my bed... I don't know. I'll probably never know. And neither will you.
Oh, and you know how some people totally obsess over their looks?
I am not one of those people.
A couple months ago, I tried spending 20 minutes blow drying my hair. That didn't work out too well. 7 minutes is my average. Brush hair, teeth, wash face, maybe put hair in pony-tail or clippie, and then decide if I should wear the blue and white sock or purple and white sock. That's another thing.
You know how some people actually match their socks?
I am not one of those people.
What is the point really? They're just socks. Sometimes I have a sock with snowmen on one foot, and a sock with kittens on the other foot. Nice combination.
Some people have about 15 pairs of shoes. If not 50.
I am not one of those people.
I have 5 pairs of shoes. One nice pair of brown Fat-Babys for town, one dirty and worn pair for ranch work. Riding boots. Tennis-shoes for jogging. (Plain-jane kind- no Dora The Explorer on the side, no flashing lights). And then one pair of nice shoes for piano recitals twice a year. That I can't walk in. I swear it's easier to invent a space shuttle than walk in heels.
I'd know. I've done both. Bwaha.
Some people are actually sane and can hold a normal conversation about normal things with normal people.
I am definitely not one of those people.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Unless you cannot determine from my previous post(s) that I extremely enjoy Fall Works, especially with the 3 Amigos, then I shall tell you- I extremely enjoy it. I have to get up at 4:20 in the morning, sometimes I don't get to eat lunch until 2:00 in the afternoon (which is... 9 hours away from when I wolfed down breakfast), but I don't mind. I would get up at 2:30 if it meant I got to go out, ride my horse, and enjoy the ridiculous, unusual, and yet exciting pleasures of working on the ranch.
However. I despise waking up on a Monday morning, alarm blaring in my ear at 7:00. I get up, brush my teeth, turn on my radio, gaze into my magical crystal ball... And fortell a day of school and chores. It is especially difficult after a week like I had. It's almost like the first day of school after a long, lazy summer.
I blame it on Travis. He brain-washed me. Sucked all intelligence from my brain. Filled my head with ridiculous comments and faces and jokes and jigs that drowned out all ability to perform the following equation:
17 + 8 - 6 = ???
Oh, no. Wait! Maybe I can do this one... FORTY EIGHT! I am soooo good at this. Oh, wow, now I have a headache...
The point is... It is very difficult to return to schoolwork after a week around a cowboy crew. I feel like I have been stuffed into a giant canister and shaken around and around and around. My head hurts, I'm tired and mad and frustrated and just about ready to go feed this dadgummed history text book to the goats!
That is. If we had goats.
It really is so unfair. You can work extremely hard, be extra efficient, get 3 days worth of school squeezed into one day, study hard, and do great that day with a fantastic attitude. But you know what? The next day there is more! It's not like cleaning your room. You work hard, vacuum, organize, de-clutter, and voila! A fabulous room! The next day, it's still clean. But with school- oh no. Work as hard as you can do your best, do enough school and work hard enough to deserve two weeks of rest. But the next day- there's always more to do. It never ends.
I told Mom this and she said, "It's kind of like feeding your kids. You cook a good meal for them, they enjoy it, everybody's happy. Next morning- they're hungry again!" Yeah, sure. But you should get atleast some satisfaction out of feeding your kids. I mean, after all, you're keeping them alive.
It is just so extremely frustrating. I was so bored today trying to magically transform Xs, Cs, and Ys into 2465, 17 and -47 that I even wrote a song. I shall jot some of it down here for your amusement.
Flying purple people eaters, dancing down the path
Are much more entertaining than attempting 9th grade math
Orange polka-dotted singing pigs, doing carthwheels down the hill
This is what I come up with, when I have time to kill.
I go on such adventures- I've talked to the Muffin-Man
I've chatted with Mother Goose, visited Africa and Ireland
I've dined with Oompa Loompas, their songs they did teach me
Oh they were so much more interesting then reading World History.
Flying puppies, talking trees, walking terra cotta pots
Candy growing on vines and shrubs- peppermints and lollipops
You may think for me to write this song, I must be such a fool
Oh but it's so much more amusing, than doing dumb old school!
I do think I am so brilliant. Don't you?